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llya was sprawled across the couch in their place in Ottawa, one arm thrown over his head, phone held low against his chest like it weighed more than it should. His thumb kept flicking, flicking, flicking, doom-scrolling the Shane Hollander tag with a focus that bordered on violent.
He’d seen the interview multiple times, just to make sure he hadn’t imagined the tone. Some ex-teammate from Montreal -one of the usual assholes- smiling for the camera while he said it. We’re better off without him.
Casual, polished, safe enough to not get called out, sharp enough to cut if you knew where to look. I
lya knew.
Distracted. Worse performance. Not the same player.
Soft.
It was all there, tucked between the lines. His jaw tightened.
The replies were worse. Fans turning it into something uglier, something louder: homophobia dressed up as “criticism,” people dissecting Shane’s last games like they’d been waiting for an excuse.
Like they wanted him smaller, ashamed.
Ilya exhaled hard through his nose. He could already picture it, Shane reading this shit. Quiet at first. Then that look, the one he tried to hide. Shoulders tense, mouth set, like he couldn´t swallow.
It made something hot and ugly coil low in Ilya’s chest.
Shane always acted like he could take it. Like it didn’t get to him. But Ilya always knew.
He tossed his phone onto the cushion beside frustrated. The apartment felt too quiet without Shane in it.
His hand dragged down his face, then curled into a fist. They could say whatever they wanted. About his playing. About him. Didn’t matter.
Shane was his.
And Ilya wasn’t about to let anyone, fans, teammates, or the entire goddamn internet, make him forget it.
---
Twenty minutes later, the front door clicked open. Ilya didn’t move from the couch, but every muscle in his body went alert.
Shane stepped inside, flushed from his run, hair damp and clinging to his forehead, t-shirt dark with sweat. He looked wrecked in the way that always made something hungry and animalistic stir in Ilya’s chest. Beautiful, he thought.
'Hey,' Shane said softly, already smiling as he crossed the room. He leaned down, pressed a quick kiss to Ilya’s mouth and then pulled away like nothing was wrong.
Like the world hadn’t just taken a swing at him.
'I’m gonna shower', he added, disappearing upstairs before Ilya could say a word. Ilya watched him go.
Too much time passed and a cold certainty settled in his gut.
'…Shane?' he called, already pushing himself off the couch. His voice softened as he moved down the hallway. 'Moy lyubov, where are you?'.
The bedroom door was half open. Ilya pushed it wider, and felt his chest drop.
Shane was curled in on himself on the bed, knees pulled tight, phone still clutched in his hand. His shoulders shook, breaths coming in uneven, shallow, like he couldn’t get enough air. Fuck.
'Oh, baby…', Ilya crossed the room in two quick steps. 'I’m so sorry. I was going to tell you. I didn’t want you to see it like this.'
He sat carefully beside him, not touching yet. 'Can I touch you,' he asked, 'or do you need space?'.
Shane made a small, broken sound, and slowly extended his hand. That was all Ilya needed. He took it immediately, bringing Shane’s knuckles to his lips in a soft, grounding kiss. His other hand came to Shane’s back, tracing slow, steady circles.
'Hey… hey,' he murmured. 'Breathe with me. Just like this.' He exaggerated it -deep inhale, slow exhale- again and again until Shane’s chest started to follow.
'You’re okay, lyubimyy,' Ilya whispered, 'You’re home. Just me. Just us'.
His voice dropped, something darker threading underneath the softness, 'No one here can hurt you'.
Shane whimpered at that, turning into him and burying his face against Ilya’s chest. The sobs came harder now, raw and unfiltered, soaking through his shirt.
Ilya wrapped his arms around him instantly, unyielding, one hand cradling the back of his head, fingers sliding through damp strands. 'Good', he murmured, pressing slow kisses into his hair. 'Let it out, malysh. I’ve got you. I’ve got you'. His grip tightened just slightly, 'Don’t keep it inside'.
Shane clung to him, shaking. Ilya’s lips pressed on his temple, his cheek, anywhere he could reach.
'Listen to me', he said quietly, 'They don’t know you. Not the first thing.' His thumb brushed under Shane’s eye, catching tears before they could fall.
'You’re strong. You’re-' he huffed a soft breath, almost frustrated by the lack of adequate words, '-you’re everything. The best thing in my life. The best player in the league.'
A pause. 'They didn’t deserve you in Montreal. Not for a second.'
Shane mumbled something into his shirt, voice muffled and small.
'I can’t hear you, baby'.
Slowly, Shane lifted his head. His eyes were glassy, wide, lashes clumped with tears, face flushed and open in a way that made Ilya’s chest ache. 'What if they’re right?', he whispered.
The words hit like a punch. Ilya’s expression hardened instantly. 'No,' he said firmly. 'No. You don’t get to believe that. Not even for a second'.
He leaned in, pressing a kiss to the corner of Shane’s mouth, then another, softer, lingering.
'They’re wrong,' he repeated against his skin. 'About everything'. His hand slid down, anchoring Shane against him again.
'You’re mine', he murmured. 'And I see you. All of you. Let me take care of you, yes?'.
His thumb traced along Shane’s lower lip, 'Let me remind you'.
Shane’s eyes darkened, something desperate flickering behind them. 'Please,' he whispered, voice breaking. 'I need to shut my brain up. I just- I just want to think about you'.
That was all it took. Ilya growled and flipped Shane so he was lying on his back. Then he leaned down, bringing their faces close enough to share breath.
'Look at you', he murmured, almost reverent.
Shane gasped softly.
Ilya didn’t wait. He caught his mouth in a hungry kiss. Messy, teeth clashing, tongues sliding together like neither of them could get close enough. Shane melted into it instantly, chasing it, clinging.
Ilya dragged his mouth down, leaving heat in his wake, over his jaw, his throat, marking, claiming, until he reached Shane’s already hard nipples. He gave them the attention they deserved. Nipping, kissing, sucking. Shane’s breathing broke into soft, uneven sounds beneath him.
'Please, Ilya…' Shane’s voice came out wrecked. 'More'.
Ilya stilled just long enough to smirk against his skin. 'Please what, kotik?'. ‘What does my pretty slut want? My mouth, my fingers, my cock? Use your words’.
Shane swallowed hard, hips shifting instinctively. 'Everything'.
An amused huff left Ilya. ‘Say it Shane. Or are you already too cockdrunk, huh?’.
Shane let out a soft, broken sound, arching into him. Their hard dicks rubbing against eachother.
‘Oh, I see. You just want me to touch your leaking dick? So wet’, Ilya purred and lowered his hand, giving one slow torturous stroke.
Shane shook his head, ‘Nuh uh, want more. Please’. He was desperate, and long gone.
'Okay,' Ilya said, 'I’ll be nice tonight. You’ve been so good for me. So brave'. Shane made a small, helpless sound at that, cheeks flushing deeper.
'My pretty boy'. Ilya leaned down again, kissing him like he was savoring him. Then he started travelling down his body, peppering kisses along the way.
He traced where his thigh met his crotch with his toungue and nuzzled the short tidy patch of hair that rested on top of his boyfriend’s red, aching dick. He breathed in Shane’s distinct smell and moaned.
He continued by spreading his thighs even wider and towards his chest, leaving Shane completely exposed.
His perfect, delicious hole winking at Ilya. He almost drooled at the sight but wanted to tease some more.
He kissed and bit Shane’s thighs and cheeks, then licking and soothing the soon-to-be purple marks.
‘Ilya, please’, Shane moaned, trying to push into Ilya’s face, right where he wanted him.
Ilya’s hand met Shane’s left asscheek in a stern smack. The boy gasped. ‘Nyet, Shane’, he said, while he soothed the pinkened skin, ‘You take what I give. It is my job to take care of and worship you’.
The sweet words where paired with two more smacks on each cheek. Shane’s dick spurted even more precum at that.
Ilya finally lowered his mouth to Shane’s hole. He pressed a kiss on it and then licked around his rim. ‘Oh baby, you taste so good’, he moaned, ‘You are so pretty back here’.
He altered between open-mouthed kisses, sucking, licking the progressivly softening muscle until he could breach the ring and enter Shane.
When he started fucking his tongue inside his boyfriend, Shane’s noises got even louder and more desperate. His knuckles white, gripping the sheets.
He added a finger and then another to his ongoing work. He scissored and stretched with a precision learnt from a decade of fucking.
When he crooked his fingers just right, he found Shane’s prostate. The boy arched his back, ‘There, there. Don’t stop. Please.’, he pleaded.
Ilya grinned. He reluctantly removed his mouth from Shane’s hole but kept the punishing pace. He then took his boyfriend’s dick in his mouth, big and leaking. And started bobbing his head in time with the thrust of his fingers.
‘Oh my god, oh my god, baby I’m gonna come’. Ilya immediately stopped and Shane whined. ‘You will come on my cock or nothing else’.
‘Yes, yes. Please put it in. I need it inside me’, Shane quickly surrendered.
Ilya also couldn’t wait any longer. His boyfriend was too fucking hot, layed out wrecked, trusting him completely. He grabbed the lube and covered his neglected dick, hissing at the feeling.
When the head popped in, catching on Shane’s rim, Ilya stopped.
‘Wha-, why, come on Ilya’, Shane blabbered.
‘You are a beautiful, brave boy. You deserve everything. I need you to repeat that’, Ilya ordered.
‘Okay, okay’, Shane stuttered and then repeated obediently. He would do anything to have his boyfriend completely inside him, stretching him open.
'Very good kotik. I’m so proud. Now tell me you’re mine, your hole, your dick and your mouth are mine. Your gorgeous freckles are mine’. Shane repeated it.
‘Such an obedient pretty slut. My slut. I love you so much. Now I give you what you want and deserve’. With that, Ilya thrusted inside Shane. Both of them moaning when he was completely sheathed in.
‘You are so tight and warm moy lyubov, you drive me crazy’, Ilya groaned, tightening balls slapping Shane’s ass. He bit Shane’s calves, that layed on his shoulders, as he started a deadly pace.
‘You fill me up so well. Nothing feels as good as you. Make me yours, please’, Shane moaned, nails raking Ilya’s back.
The room was filled with the smell of sweat, sex and the sound of skin slapping against skin. Ilya never relented, pulling continuous ah ah ah’s from Shane.
At some point he flipped him, so Shane was on all fours and Ilya could thrust even deeper and at an even better angle.
Shane couldn’t last much after that, with Ilya’s kisses and nips on his upper back, one hand gripping his hip and another pulling his hair back to accentute even more the arch of his back. ‘Ilya, can I come please’, Shane begged. ‘I’m so fucking close’.
And how could Ilya resist his sweet baby’s pleas. ‘Yes lyubimyy, come for me’, and Shane -as always- obeyed. H
is moans and whines, and the feeling of his hole clenching Ilya’s dick was too much, and he came three thrusts later, filling Shane deep inside.
He collapsed on top of him, while his dick softened inside the hole, and stroked his boyfriend’s sweaty hair, pressing soft kisses against his neck. ‘You did so good, baby. I’m so fucking proud’. Shane blushed at the praise.
They layed there for a little while, enjoying the after-sex glow.
Soon Shane started getting uncomfortable, cum drying inside his ass, some leaking between his thighs even though he was still plugged by Ilya’s dick.
Ilya realized instantly and pulled out. He bended Shane so he was again on his knees, making the blackhaired boy groan. ‘Ilya please, I need to clean myself’.
‘Wait just a sec, baby I wanna see my handywork’. Sure enough, Shane’s hole was puffy and red. Still stretched, with cum leaking out of it. Ilya was practically drooling.
Without a second thought he leaned in and started to lick the remains of his release, sucking on Shane’s rim. Shane flinched at first from the overstimulation but instantly pushed back with a moan.
That encouraged Ilya even more, who, after licking between his thighs, started massaging his boyfriend’s asscheeks and thrusting inside his hole with his tongue.
Shane’s noises got even louder. ‘Oh my god baby, oh my god’, he gasped.
Ilya lowered his hand towards Shane’s front, and, as he suspected, his dick was already hard again. He used the remains of his boyfriend’s come and the new precum dripping, to cover Shane’s dick and start a relentless rhythm, still working his mouth on Shane’s hole.
He removed himself just slightly and asked, ‘Are you gonna come for me again like a good boy?’. Then dove in again.
‘Yes, yes, yes, yes…ah, ah, oh my god’, Shane babbled as he came. Ilya stroked him through it.
Shane collapsed on the mattress, nearly out if it, legs shaking. He mumbled unintelligibly as he came down from his high.
Ilya chuckled as he caressed him sweetly. ‘Come on moy lyubov, let’s get you in the shower’. He carefully picked him up, Shane grabbing tightly on to him and burrowing his face in his neck, purring. He was so soft and sleepy, Ilya could die from an overdose of love.
He settled Shane inside the bathtub and got in with him. Then lathered him carefully with soap, rubbing every soon-to- be sore spot with devotion, pressing kisses where he could and murmuring sweet nothings, as Shane hummed with his eyes closed and let himself be taken care of.
The anguish he had felt earlier had disappeared. He could only think about Ilya, how safe and loved he felt with him. How much Shane loved him. Inside the protection of their home, nobody could hurt him. He was secure, he was going to be okay.